


it's only doubts that we're counting on fingers broken long ago

by cinderlily



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: M/M, What's the opposite of a coda?, Wilson Cruz is my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: A little build up to the scene that we saw in 1x4.





	it's only doubts that we're counting on fingers broken long ago

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rilo Kiley.

When they had been alerted to brace themselves, Dr. Culber had done what came naturally. First he secured his patients, then his staff, and finally, last second, he slid into his seat to make sure that he could at least grasp the bottom of his seat. He felt the jerk and the pull, looked over at this tables to find his patients vibrating. 

It wasn’t good. He knew it wasn’t good as the next thirty seconds felt actually like thirty minutes. But it stopped, and as he suspected a few new bodies were placed in his beds. His staff was capable and smart, he knew that, but when he saw a familiar shape in one of the beds his whole body snapped to attention. 

He was being unprofessional, he was being completely unprofessional, but his brain wasn’t working at it’s finest. Because the form was _Paul_ … Lieutenant Stamets. 

As he grabbed his scanner he made sure that the other patients were being handled. Nothing seemed to be bad, all were conscious. Except for the Lieutenant, who lay like a rag doll on his cot. He was afraid to touch him. Afraid of movement. He turned on a full body scan, letting it do its job as he sat back and looked at the readings desperately. 

Fractured skull, broken nose, fractured rib… His stomach lurched when he looked further into the skull break. It was bad, really really bad. To the point that all he could think of was previous times he’d seen similar ones. Days of an induced coma. Days of waiting. But thankfully, blessedly, not this one. 

He had to ask for help moving him, one of his nurses coming to his side and letting out a soft mewl of displeasure. Normally he would tell the guy off for showing emotion in a situation when they needed to remain as calm as possible, but he was about four seconds from screaming so he let it slide. 

“You brace his legs,” he directed. “I have to move his upper body to allow better access to the fracture.” 

Nurse Hydsju nodded, moving the legs to a straightened out position. He put his hand on Paul— on the _Lieutenants'_ chest and used his other hand to move his head by fractions. He knew what he could do, knew the angle he was allowed to reach but he couldn’t help but feel like a first year all over again. 

The wound showed itself and he let out a low hiss, one his nurse forgave. 

He pulled out his healer and ran it over the injury, watching as the bones came back out and healed together. He had to run it over four times before it was back to where it had started. He exhaled. 

“Nurse, can you bring me…” 

He looked down to see that Hydsju had already brought a bowl of warm water and a cloth. A little basic, he could use a lot of different techniques to get rid of the matted red in the blonde but he liked to go the long way sometimes and maybe, just maybe, he needed this more than Paul did. 

“Thank you.” 

The Nurse gave a quick nod, his pale blue skin going just a little bluer. He needed to be more attentive to his staff in pressured situations, he knew that. But that was for another day. 

“Can you get me a status update on the other patients?” 

Another nod and he was off. 

He put a hand into the water and let the bowl lay under where the wound was. Paul was still out, partially because he’d had just enough forethought to give him a sedative. But he washed the hair briskly and as efficiently as possible, hearing the familiar voice of the sleeping patient telling him that he was being sentimental and that he should be doing more for others. That he was fine. 

He hadn’t talked to Paul in something like a month, since before his friend died before the world went to hell. He’d been the one to end it, late one night curled up in Paul’s bed. They had been off and on for so long that most of Paul’s idiosyncratic behavior was endearing to him but that time he realized that Paul was true with his sentiment that it would never be long term. That he was married to his work. 

So, as a doctor, he clinically cut himself off from the toxic. Even if it had meant many nights of almost messaging him to come to his room. Because he would have. 

He used an automatic drier to finish it and his hair was fine. No sign of the brush with death. He knitted the broken rib in one quick swipe of the bone knitter. Then Paul started to wake up. With a nose so broken it was almost comical. Instead of yelling in pain, Paul put his hand up. 

“Don’t touch that,” he commanded and Paul stopped just as his hand hit the broken bone. 

“What? Not pretty anymore?” he said, the sedation causing a slight slur. 

Hugh swallowed around what he wanted to tell him. What he would say if it were appropriate, or if it were six weeks ago. Instead, he frowned at him. “Whoever said you were pretty? Can you sit up?” 

Paul tried to glare at him, but it was ineffective and apparently painful as he flinched instead. “I’m not a child, Hugh.” 

Just for that, he pushed the button to bring the bed into a seated position, just to see how annoyed it could make him. “You seem to enjoy acting like one. And it’s Dr. Culber.” 

“Are we still doing this?” 

“Still doing what?” 

“Not talking,” Paul said. “It’s been four weeks. Usually, you at least give in around this mark.” 

His stomach lurched. ‘Give in’. He wasn’t sure if he should punch him or… well. No. He just wanted to punch him. That was about it. But he was a professional, so he turned and grabbed the smaller pen meant for small breaks. He breathed in and exhaled. 

“We’re still doing that, and if you are hoping for me to ‘give in’, you are going to be waiting for a while,” he said, and he lifted his hand just enough to start at the top of his nose. 

Paul ducked. “What does that mean?” 

“That means that I presented my case a month ago, as you disagreed with the terms,” he let himself trail off. “We’re done.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Paul said. “Just because I refuse to _hold hands_ in public or declare my eternal love for you …” 

He pressed the button off. “Yes. Because you refuse to let anyone besides your bed know who we are, I’m fairly certain I’m good being in my own bed.” 

“You are being over emotional about the whole situation,” Paul said. “If you were more rational you’d see that... you might see that…” 

Inhaling sharply, he took his palm and brought it up to Paul’s cheek. He shrugged, and Hugh felt himself steel up. “I know this might seem like news to you, but some of us have emotions.” 

There was a part of him that wanted to go on but the nose was looking nastier by the minute, plus he knew he only had so much time before Paul would be needed again. Always needed. Always important. He braced a hand on his shoulder and Paul looked down at it. 

“Hold still,” he said. “Or else you’ll wind up looking like a Tellarite…” 

The door whooshed open and the Captain walked in. He should have been relieved for back up but the Captain, as usual, was no help where the Lieutenant was concerned.


End file.
